Soldiers of Fortune: Renegades
by Sara Wolfe
Summary: Two teams, one mission: take down Manticore.
1. Chapter 1

**Soldiers of Fortune: Renegades**

**November 18, 1981 – Gillette, Wyoming**

As his SUV stalled out for the third time in as many hours, Leroy Jethro Gibbs wondered what kind of idiots put a military base out in the middle of nowhere. He was fifty miles outside of Gillette, Wyoming, and even with all his training as a Marine, he was lost.

Of course, it didn't help that a snowstorm had blown up out of nowhere, the snow falling fast and hard enough to be virtually blinding. His windshield wipers running at full force were no match for the fury of Mother Nature, and he could barely see even a foot in front of his SUV. He was starting to doubt his sanity in even coming out here in the first place.

He gunned the engine the same time he stepped on the accelerator, but the tires of the SUV just squealed, throwing snow as they spun uselessly in place. Swearing under his breath, he shoved the shift into neutral and threw open his door, intending to get out and push.

The door opened all of six inches before it was slammed backward from the force of the wind. He grunted as he shoved his shoulder against the door, forcing it open, again. It took two more tries before he could get the door open, and he staggered out of the car, barely missing having his fingers smashed in the door as it slammed shut.

He walked a circuit around the car, studying the tires. Three of the tires were still sitting firmly on the snow, but the left rear tire had sunk down into a rut and was unmistakably stuck in the snow. Setting his shoulder against the back of the SUV, Gibbs braced himself against the ground and pushed. Then, there was a distinct popping sound and a fiery pain shot up his leg.

He collapsed against the side of the SUV, cursing his stupidity as he struggled to keep himself from collapsing into the snow. His damn knee was the reason he'd gotten a medical discharge from the Marine Corps in the first place; he should have known better than try and do anything that could make the still-healing injury worse. And trying to move a car was probably up there among the stupidest things he could have done.

He was still leaning against the vehicle, his eyes closed as he breathed through the stabbing pains radiating up his leg, when the sound of an engine caught his attention. Opening his eyes, he saw another SUV pulling up alongside his, and then the vehicle stopped and the driver climbed out, with considerably more success than Gibbs had earlier.

"Hey, are you okay?" the man called out, shielding his eyes from the wind.

"My car got stuck," Gibbs explained, straightening as the man came over to him.

"I see that," the man commented, idly, looking down at the mired tire. "You don't look like you had much luck getting it out."

"That's an understatement," Gibbs muttered.

"You need a lift, somewhere?" the man asked, after giving Gibb's car an experimental shove of his own. "Because I don't think this one's budging until the spring thaw."

"Thanks," Gibbs said, limping toward the other man's vehicle.

He climbed into the passenger seat, shutting the door behind him, and then he sighed in relief as he was hit full force by warm air from the heaters. The other man climbed into the driver's seat, letting a quick burst of freezing air before he shut the door, sealing away the howling wind.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, putting his vehicle into four-wheel drive and starting slowly forward. "You're an awfully long way from the nearest town."

"I have an appointment," Gibbs told him. "There's supposed to be a military base somewhere around in all of this mess, but I have yet to find it."

"That's funny," the man remarked. "I have an appointment at the same, mysterious military base. And I've had just about as much luck finding it as you did." Extending a hand for Gibbs to shake, he added, "Lieutenant Colonel Donald Lydecker."

"Marine Corps?" Gibbs asked, his interest piqued, but Lydecker shook his head.

"Army," came the answer. "I just got back from maneuvers overseas when I got this new assignment. You?"

"Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Gibbs told the other man. "United States Marine Corps."

Lydecker raised an eyebrow at his words.

"What kind of an operation are they running out here that they're recruiting from the Army and the Marine Corps?" he asked, but it didn't seem as though he expected an answer.

The rest of the drive was completed in silence as Lydecker tried to navigate through the worsening storm. At one point, he directed Gibbs to the first aid kit that he kept in his glove box, and Gibbs found himself pawing through the extensive supplies for something to bind his leg with.

Rolling up his pant leg, he wrapped an Ace bandage firmly around his knee, ignoring the throbbing pain that had lessened to a dull, burning sensation from the earlier agony. He was pretty sure he'd screwed his leg up; the only question was how badly, and if he would be able to fix it. He certainly didn't relish the thought of limping for the rest of his life.

Lydecker had spared him a quick glance when he'd started working on his knee, and now he nodded approvingly at the job Gibbs had done.

"They teach good first aid in the Marines," he commented. "But, you might want to make that bandage tighter. You want to keep the swelling down."

After feeling around the area, Gibbs concluded that the other man was right, rewrapping his knee so that the improvised brace was tighter. He didn't want to cut off circulation, but he also didn't want to risk his knee swelling up like a balloon.

After nearly half an hour of driving, they finally managed to find the complex they were looking for. A nondescript building was barely visible through the blinding snow, surrounded by a fence topped with razor wire. There were heavily armed sentries posted along the length of the fence, and the guardhouse was manned by more soldiers with heavy-duty firepower.

"Makes you wonder who they're trying to keep out," he muttered to Lydecker.

"Maybe they're trying to keep something in," Lydecker retorted, just as quietly, as they pulled up to the guardhouse. Louder, he added, "Colonel Lydecker and Sergeant Gibbs here to see-"

He hesitated, fishing for the orders in his pocket, and Gibbs took his own out.

"Director Renfro," he finished for Lydecker. "We have an appointment."

"I'm going to need to see some identification," the soldier, a lieutenant said, brusquely.

Gibbs fished his ID out of his wallet, passing it over to the guard. The man checked his ID, and then Lydecker's, and then he waved them through. Gibbs had been surprised at the quick check at the gate; he'd been expecting something much more extensive, especially with all the secrecy involved in actually finding the base.

But, his concerns were allayed after Lydecker parked his car and they got out. They were met by another pair of soldiers as soon as they'd gotten out of the vehicle, and had been escorted to the main building. They were patted down for weapons at the main entrance, and then they went through two more similar checkpoints before they were met by a stone-faced man in fatigues.

The man relieved their escort with a quick nod, and Gibbs watched them disappear rapidly back down the hallway, the way they'd come. He wondered what this place was hiding that had everyone so jumpy and on edge.

"I'm Captain Ramirez," the man said, as he led them down another hallway. "Director Renfro is this way."

Gibbs was expecting to be taken to an office, but to his surprise, Ramirez led them to a gym. He expected to see more soldiers working out with the equipment, but instead the room was being used by a group of about a dozen kids who, on closer inspection, looked to be barely old enough to be considered teenagers. The room was eerily silent as they worked out, the only sound coming from the equipment. Even the pair sparring at the back of the room were completely quiet.

From the look on Lydecker's face, this wasn't what he had been expecting, either, and Gibbs found his curiosity increasing by the moment. Ramirez led them to the center of the gym, and not one of the kids looked up as they passed. A few were very deliberately avoiding Ramirez's gaze, though, and he found that even more interesting than being ignored.

There was a woman standing in the middle of the room, watching everything, and Ramirez stopped beside her, waiting until she had turned and given him her attention before he spoke.

"Director Renfro," he said, quietly, respect clear in his voice, "I'd like to introduce Colonel Lydecker and Sergeant Gibbs."

"You can go now," Renfro said, in reply, and Ramirez practically bolted from the room.

"Pleasure to meet you, gentlemen," Renfro said, without looking at them. "I'm sure you're wondering why you're here?"

Gibbs was, but probably not for the reasons that the woman was alluding to. Given Ramirez's reaction to being in her presence, and the man's obvious relief in getting away from her, he was starting to wonder just what he was getting into.

"Look around you, gentlemen," Renfro continued, breaking into his thoughts. "Tell me what you see."

"Kids using a gym," Lydecker said, giving the room a quick once-over.

Gibbs took a closer look, having caught a glimpse of a frown on Renfro's face at Lydecker's answer. On the surface, it looked like just that, a group of kids working out and staying in shape. But, when he looked deeper, he saw grim determination etched on their young faces. It was the same look he saw on new recruits when they first started training for the Corps.

"Soldiers," he said, quietly, and Renfro nodded in satisfaction.

"Imagine the perfect soldier," she told them, gesturing to the teenagers around them. "One who never tires, never falters, never hesitates. Instead of sending in one hundred soldiers, imagine sending in ten – and not losing a single one."

"You're training super soldiers?" Lydecker asked, taking a closer look around.

"Not just training," Renfro corrected him. "Breeding. These soldiers are the next step in genetic engineering."

"They're kids," Lydecker protested, and Renfro just shook her head in amusement.

"You two," she barked, and the pair of kids sparring at the back of the room snapped to attention at the sound of her voice.

They moved through the room until they were standing in front of Renfro, and both of them snapped off salutes when they stopped.

"Do you consider yourself to be in good shape, Colonel?" Renfro asked, looking away from the kids to glance over at Lydecker.

"I wouldn't be in the Army if I wasn't," the other man answered, immediately.

"Enough to take on a pair of kids?" Renfro continued, a strange expression on her face.

Lydecker just snorted out a laugh, and the taller of the kids narrowed his eyes at the sound. The other, a young girl with her hair cut into the same, harsh buzz cut as her partner, pursed her lips in anger. But, neither kid moved from their position in front of Renfro.

Renfro, for her part, moved out from between Lydecker and the kids, drawing Gibbs back with her.

"Whenever you're ready, Colonel," she called out.

Lydecker moved slowly around the kids, sizing them up, and Gibbs had the feeling that the other man was treating them like other recruits that he'd trained in the past. He had an even stronger feeling that it was a stupid move on Lydecker's part.

The kids made no move except to go back to back with each other, but their eyes tracked Lydecker, constantly. The boy seemed to be the more tightly wound of the two, his hands flexing slowly into fists as he followed Lydecker's progress. The girl was as still as a statue, perfectly motionless except for her eyes.

Finally, the boy moved, snapping a leg out to try and trip Lydecker up. The older man moved easily out of range, striking out a blow of his own that nearly caught the boy in the face. The boy jerked back, as though startled, but Gibbs thought he saw a flash of amusement cross his face as he moved out of the way.

Something was going on, and it became clear as he watched the kids spar with Lydecker. They stumbled, they missed shots, they telegraphed their blows, and Lydecker was able to avoid their attacks with ease. But there was a hesitance to their movements, not as if they didn't know how to attack, but as if they were thinking about how to make the next mistake.

"They're toying with him," Gibbs said, quietly, and Renfro nodded. "They're lulling Lydecker into a false sense of security," he continued, watching the fight unfold. "Waiting for him to get overconfident and trip up."

"They're two of the best from the X-Four class," Renfro told him. When the girl suddenly dumped Lydecker on his ass, pinning him to the mats, she smirked. "Still convinced that they're just kids, Colonel?" she called out.

Lydecker ignored her, glaring up at his opponents, who clearly weren't going to give an inch. Then, he smacked his hand twice on the floor, tapping out, and the girl moved off him. The boy reached out and pulled Lydecker to his feet, then they both stepped back, turning to salute Renfro, again.

"Anything else, Ma'am?" the boy asked, respectfully.

"That will be all," Renfro told them. "You can resume your workout."

The pair went immediately back to the mats at the back of the gym, moving into their sparring as seamlessly as if they had never been interrupted.

"This way," Renfro said, jerking her head toward the door. "I have more that I want to show you, gentlemen."

"You okay?" Gibbs asked, in an undertone, as Lydecker fell into step beside him.

"Those kids are damned fast," the other man grumbled, irritably. He surreptitiously stretched, something popping loudly in his back as he moved. "And they're good. Better than anyone I've ever gone up against."

"Exactly how they're designed to be," Renfro spoke up, having heard him despite his efforts to be quiet. "The X-series aren't just soldiers. They're so much more than that."

They continued down the hall, stopping in front of a door with another pair of guards standing outside. The guards both snapped off salutes when they saw Renfro, and the soldier on the left moved aside to reveal a numeric pad on the side of the doorframe.

Renfro punched a code into the keypad, placing her thumb on the space at the top of the panel for a fingerprint scan. A light flashed green, and then the door slid open with a nearly inaudible hiss. Gibbs and Lydecker followed her into the new room, and Gibbs was surprised to see what looked like a hospital nursery.

A quick count revealed two dozen incubators filling the room, all of them occupied. Screens above each of the incubators were monitoring the infants' vital signs, and nurses in spotless white lab coats moved among the incubators, checking on their patients.

"This is the future of Project Manticore," Renfro said, pride in her voice. "The X-Five series."

Stepping over to one of the incubators, Gibbs looked down and saw a baby girl with bright blue eyes staring up at him, curiously. He reached out to the baby and she wrapped her fist around his finger, holding on with surprising strength.

"In another year, she'll be able to break your hand when she does that," Renfro told him. "This is X-Five-Four-five-two."

"They don't have names?" Gibbs asked.

"They don't need names," Renfro said, dismissively. "Not until they're ready to go on missions, anyway."

"Always thinking like a military strategist, aren't you, Diane?" a new voice spoke up, and Gibbs turned to see an older man in a lab coat entering the room.

"Doctor Sandeman," Renfro said, with a nod in the man's direction. "Here to check on the X-Fives?"

"And on the newest recruits to Manticore," Sandeman told her. "These are them, I presume?" he added, nodding at Gibbs and Lydecker.

"Colonel Donald Lydecker and Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs," Renfro introduced them. "Doctor Charles Sandeman, the founder of Manticore."

"Pleasure to meet you both," Sandeman said, shaking their hands. "Actually, Diane, I'd like to borrow Sergeant Gibbs for a few moments, if you will."

Renfro shrugged, and Gibbs found himself following Sandeman back down the hallway to the man's office. As they walked, Sandeman glanced quickly down at his leg, where he had started limping as the pain increased from a dull roar.

"I can take a look at that for you, if you'd like," he offered, and Gibbs nodded, gratefully.

In Sandeman's office, he eased himself down into the chair that Sandeman offered him, rolling up his pant leg to reveal the bandage wrapped around his knee.

"That looks nasty," Sandeman commented, idly. "What did you do to yourself?"

"Tried to push my car out of a rut," Gibbs admitted, earning a derisive look from Sandeman.

"That was stupid of you," he remarked, as he moved over to a file cabinet. "Here, take that bandage off."

As Gibbs unwound the bandage, he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Craning his head around, he saw a pair of eyes peering at him from the open doorway of an adjoining office.

"Don't be afraid," he said, quietly, trying to be reassuring.

The eyes disappeared, and then a boy in his teens stepped out from the other office, moving slowly toward him. His face was strange, distorted. He had an oversized nose, a heavy brow, and a curled lip. There was something almost canine about his appearance.

The boy crept toward him, cautiously, and then to Gibbs' amazement, he stopped a few feet away, leaning in and sniffing the air around him.

"Joshua, what are you doing?" Sandeman asked, sharply, and the boy jumped, guiltily. "You know you're not supposed to be up here," Sandeman continued, as the boy shrank into himself, whimpering softly.

"I'm sorry, Father," Joshua whispered, staring down at the floor. "But it's scary down there."

"It's the only place that's safe for you," Sandeman told him.

Dragging a chair around the desk, he sat down across from Gibbs and carefully felt around his swollen knee. Then, he uncapped a needle that was sitting on his desk and injected the contents into Gibbs' knee.

"It's a fast acting steroid," he told him. "It'll help the swelling go down."

Snagging the bandage from the desk where Gibbs had placed it, he wrapped it around his knee, again, binding the swelling down. Gibbs nodded his wordless thanks as he rolled his pant leg down again, and he turned to see Joshua watching him, curiously.

"You're not afraid of me," the boy said, softly.

"No, I'm not," Gibbs answered, and a beaming smile spread across the boy's face.

"Joshua was my first creation," Sandeman told him, watching the boy with obvious pride in his eyes.

"He doesn't exactly look like an unstoppable killing machine," Gibbs commented.

"Manticore didn't start as a military operation," Sandeman answered. "I was actually working to eradicate disease, to create a cure for all ills. But, then I started having financial troubles, and I needed funding. That's when the government stepped in. They would fund my work if I helped them create their super soldiers."

"So, why am I here?" Gibbs asked. "What I know about genetic engineering could fit on the head of a pin – with room left over."

"Diane wanted to find competent soldiers to help train the X-Fives," Sandeman told him. "That is why you and Colonel Lydecker were first chosen. But, I think you can bring something else to Manticore."

"Like what?" Gibbs asked, curiously.

"A sense of humanity," was the answer. "Everyone here was handpicked as the best in their fields, in order to create the best soldiers. But, they view these kids as nothing more than experiments. I think we need someone who looks at them as kids, not killing machines."

Gibbs looked over at Joshua, who'd migrated to his father's side, and he saw a hopeful look on the boy's face.

"You're nicer than the others," Joshua told him, with a hesitant smile.

"What do you say, Sergeant?" Sandeman asked. "Are you willing to help me make a difference in these kids' lives?"

"Where do I sign up?" Gibbs asked, and Sandeman smiled.

"Welcome to Manticore," he told him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Just to clarify, since there seemed to be some confusion with the first chapter, this is an AU. And, as such, I'm taking some extreme liberties with the details of both shows' respective canons, including the timelines.

**August 22, 1984 – Long Island, New York**

Tony DiNozzo looked up at the sound of his bedroom door slamming shut, and he watched his brother stalk across the room to drop onto his bed with a dramatic sigh.

"They're fighting, again," Logan groaned, his voice muffled from where his face was buried in the bedcovers.

"They're always fighting," Tony pointed out, and his twin lifted his head to give him a withering look.

"Mom threw a plate at Dad's head," the thirteen year old told him. "It missed him by about a couple of inches."

"So, he's getting better at ducking," Tony said, and a tiny smirk crept across Logan's face before he sobered, again.

"Do you think they're ever going to stop?" he asked, plaintively.

"Maybe when one of them is dead," Tony muttered, blushing when Logan glared at him.

The sound of a slamming door cut off whatever he was about to say, though, and Logan sighed when they heard a car engine starting up in the distance.

"There goes Dad," he groaned, flopping back onto the bed and throwing his arm over his eyes.

"And, there goes Mom," Tony sighed, when another door slammed a few seconds later. "Ten bucks says that they forgot we were even in the house."

"No bet," Logan grumbled. "What are we going to do about dinner?"

"I'll cook," Tony said, shrugging dismissively. "Or, we could order pizza or something."

When Logan didn't answer, he turned his attention back to the book he'd been reading before his brother had burst in. Logan was ominously silent, and Tony kept sneaking glances over the top of his book to make sure that he was okay. They sat in silence for a while, and then Logan spoke up.

"Do you think Mom and Dad are going to get divorced?" he asked.

"I think the question is when they're going to get divorced," Tony pointed out.

"Who do you think we're going to live with when it's all over?" Logan asked, and Tony shrugged.

"Dad probably keeps the divorce papers in his office," he said, and Logan bounced off the bed.

"What are we waiting for?" he demanded, pulling Tony to his feet and toward the door. "Let's go."

"Dad keeps his office locked," Tony pointed out, but he let himself be dragged downstairs, anyway.

True to his prediction, the door to their father's office was locked, but Tony went into the kitchen and grabbed a paperclip out of the junk drawer. Straightening the thin piece of metal, he crouched down in front of the door and started fiddling with the lock.

He listened, carefully, as he worked, and then he grinned in triumph when he heard the last of the tumblers click into place.

"Got it," he said, happily, standing and pushing the door open.

"Where did you learn to pick locks, anyway?" Logan asked, as they entered their father's office.

"It's amazing what you can learn when you hang around the police station all day," Tony told him. "Where do you think Dad keeps the divorce papers?"

"Probably the file cabinet," Logan pointed out, earning an eye roll from Tony.

Logan started going through the file cabinet, pouring over the contents of each drawer, while Tony went through the papers scattered across the surface of their father's desk.

"What do you think the chances are that neither of them want us?" Tony asked, curiously, as he kept searching. "Maybe neither of them want custody, and they're sending us to live with Aunt Grace, instead."

"We can only hope," Logan retorted. "Hey, this drawer is locked," he added, a few seconds later when he tugged on the bottom drawer of the file cabinet.

"Well, it's not because of the divorce papers," Tony answered, holding up a file folder in triumph. "Because those are right here."

"What's it say?" Logan asked, abandoning the locked file cabinet for the time being.

"Divorce settlement of Anthony DiNozzo, Senior and Patricia Cale-DiNozzo," Tony read, as his brother leaned over his shoulder and scanned the document along with him. "Let's see, custody, custody-"

"Right there," Logan interjected, pointing to a paragraph halfway down the second page. "Custody of minor children."

"Okay," Tony said, scanning the paragraph. "Custody of the oldest child-"

"Oldest child?" Logan echoed. "They're splitting us up."

"We don't know that," Tony said, before his brother could start to get worked up. "Custody of the oldest child, Anthony DiNozzo, Junior," he continued, before Logan could say anything else, "goes to Anthony DiNozzo, Senior."

"So, you're stuck with Dad," Logan grumbled.

"Custody of the youngest child, Logan DiNozzo," Tony went on, "goes to Patricia Cale-DiNozzo."

"They are splitting us up," Logan said, bitterly. "This sucks."

"There's more," Tony said, giving up on the divorce settlement and snatching their father's planner off of the corner of his desk. "The court date is in two days."

"When do you think they were planning on telling us?" Logan asked.

"Probably the morning of the court appearance," Tony said, angrily. "You're right. This sucks."

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Logan offered, trying to be optimistic. "We'll still get to see each other."

"Not likely," Tony told him. "They hate each other; I can't see them overcoming that just for us."

"Are you sure we can't just run away and go live with Aunt Grace?" Logan asked, groaning.

"They'd probably find us and drag us back just because they could," Tony pointed out. Leaning back in his father's chair, he added, "So, if the divorce settlement was sitting on his desk, then why is that drawer locked?"

"What does it matter?" Logan asked.

"It matters because I'm dying of curiosity," Tony told him.

Pushing the chair away from the desk, Tony crouched down in front of the file cabinet, pulling the straightened paper clip out of his pocket. He worked on the lock for a few seconds, grinning when the drawer popped open.

"Damn, I'm good," he declared, and Logan swatted him on the back of the head.

"What are you doing?" his brother demanded, and Tony shrugged.

"Going through Dad's things," he said, flippantly. "You can't tell me you're not dying to know what he's got locked up in here."

"Maybe," Logan admitted, grudgingly, and that was all Tony needed.

He dug through the contents of the drawer, pulling files out and setting them aside as he scanned the contents of each folder.

"Most of this is just work stuff," he said, setting the file folders in a pile on the floor beside him.

"How do you know?" Logan wanted to know as he set aside another folder after looking through it quickly.

"Dad's hoping that I'll follow him into the family business and take over after he retires," Tony answered. "So, he lets me look at stuff from time to time, trying to get me interested."

"Why's he locking away business papers?" Logan asked. "I mean, why not keep them at the office?"

"No clue," Tony told him. "This one isn't work stuff, though," he added, a few seconds later. "What the heck is a Manticore?"

"It's a mythological beast with the body of a lion and the head of a human," Logan answered, automatically, and Tony rolled his eyes.

"How do you know this stuff?" he demanded.

"Because I read," Logan retorted, with an eye roll of his own. "Unlike some people I could name."

"Hey, I read," Tony said, defensively.

"The biography of Clint Eastwood is not the kind of book I was talking about," Logan said, referring to the book that Tony had been reading when he'd come into his brother's room.

"Oh, shut up," Tony grumbled, turning back to the contents of the file folder. "Project Manticore," he said, before Logan could say anything. "Well, whatever it is, Dad's been funneling a lot of money into it."

"Give me that," Logan said, snatching the papers from his hands. "This Manticore thing is being funded by the Army," he went on, reading through the papers.

"The United States Army?" Tony asked, surprised. "Dad's always preaching about the evils of working with the government. He's not about to go and accept some government contract, not with the company's money."

"Well, Dad's not practicing what he preaches," Logan said, dryly. "And, besides, it doesn't look like he's using the company's money, anyway."

"Then what?" Tony asked, craning his neck over to look at the papers.

"Our trust funds," Logan said, reading on. "Dad's using our trust funds to fund his little pet project."

"But, what the heck is it?" Tony demanded, irritably. "What is so important about this Project Manticore that Dad is willing to compromise his own beliefs and throw in with the government?"

At the sound of a door slamming outside, Logan hastily shoved the papers back into the file folder, shoving the folder back into the drawer. He and Tony shoved the rest of the folders back into the drawer and slammed it shut. Then, Tony scattered the papers on the desk around, approximating the mess that had been there when they'd come in, and they bolted out of the office.

They sprinted up the stairs and paused at the landing, watching as their father entered his office, a bottle of Jack Daniels dangling from his fist. The door slammed shut behind him, and Tony let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding.

"Well, whatever the heck Project Manticore is," Logan spoke up, "we're not going to find out about it, today."

"Or, maybe ever," Tony said, darkly. "Remember, we're getting split up in two days."

"How could I forget?" Logan retorted, and with a sigh, the boys hauled themselves to their feet and went up to Tony's room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing.

**September 9, 1985 – Gillette, Wyoming**

Gibbs kept a careful eye on the toddler standing in front of him. He swung her up into the air and she grabbed the bar over her head, holding on tightly with her small hands. Cautiously, he let go, and she dangled in mid air for a few seconds.

"What's next?" he coached, encouragingly, and a look of grim determination came over the girl's face.

She shifted her grip on the bar, the muscles in her arms tensing. Then, she slowly pulled herself up until her head had cleared the top of the bar. She tapped her chin on the bar like she'd seen the other X-Fives do, and then she slowly lowered herself down to hang from the bar.

She did nine more pull-ups, and then she waited for Gibbs' signal. At his satisfied nod, she let go of the bar and dropped to the ground, landing lightly on her feet.

"Very good, Four-five-two," he said, approvingly, and the little girl smiled at him, showing a gap in her smile where a front tooth had been knocked out, yesterday.

"Max," she lisped, correcting him, and then she looked around, quickly, clearly afraid that someone had heard her.

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "There's no one else around. It's just us, Max."

Her face lit up at the sound of her name, and he grinned back at her. In the four years that he'd been at Manticore, he'd gotten close to most of the X-Five kids, and Max, especially. Lydecker had been pissed at him, but he'd been the one who encouraged the kids to give each other names, telling Lydecker that it made them a stronger unit, made them think of each other as family.

But, he'd also had his own reasons for encouraging the kids. Sandeman's words about bringing humanity to the operation had stuck with him, and he'd done all he could over the years to get them to act like kids. Giving them names was just a small part of that effort.

Max was still standing in front of him, waiting for his next orders, and he studied the gym, looking for ideas. Then, his eyes lit on the climbing wall they'd installed at the back of the gym, last year, and he gestured to it.

"Up and over, ten times," he said, and Max ran across the room to the wall.

Gibbs followed her at a slower pace, studying the child as she moved. He'd started studying books on childhood development after he and Shannon had learned that they were expecting a baby, and he'd thought that the things he learned would come in handy when he dealt with the X-Fives. But, he'd very quickly learned that all bets were out the window when it came to these kids.

Sandeman's genetic engineering had done its job, creating kids who developed at lightning speed when compared to other children. At four years old, Max's mental and physical development was that of a child twice her age, if not even older. Gibbs had yet to figure out just how fast the kids were developing. But, they were faster, stronger, and smarter than he'd ever expected them to be, and he had the feeling that the X-Five class had surpassed even Renfro's lofty ambitions.

He watched as Max reached the climbing wall, leaping into the air to grab a pair of handholds about five feet off the ground. She clung to the wall, tightly, while she felt around for footholds, and then she started climbing. She scrambled to the top of the wall in record time, Gibbs keeping track with his stopwatch, and then she disappeared over the other side, landing on the ground out of sight with a thump.

She ran around the side of the climbing wall and started up the front, again. When she'd finished her tenth circuit, she ran over and stopped in front of him, waiting for him to pass judgment.

"Good job," he said, and her face lit up at his approval. "But," he continued, "I think it's time you joined the rest of your unit."

Max's face fell, at that, and she scowled, comically.

"Colonel Lydecker is no fun," she said, her choice of words reminding him just how young she really was. "Can't I stay with you?"

"Sorry, kiddo," he told her, apologetically. "One on one training time is over, for today."

Max pouted, but she obediently followed him to the door. Outside, where the rest of her unit was training, Max ran to join them, jumping on Zack in her excitement and earning a sharp reprimand from Lydecker in return. Max glared at Lydecker as soon as his back was turned, but her face smoothed out to angelic innocence when he glanced back at the group.

Seeing him, Lydecker crossed the training field to join him, watching him study the fighting kids. They stood in silence for several minutes while the kids sparred, and then Lydecker scowled when one of the kids missed an obvious block.

"You're leaving yourself open!" he bellowed, stalking across the expanse to where Jondy and Tinga had stopped fighting as soon as they heard his yell. "When an enemy combatant takes a swing at you," he snarled, "you'd damn well better block it!"

Then, quicker than Gibbs could react, Lydecker swung his closed fist at Jondy's head. But, the girl dropped to the ground, instinctively lashing out with both legs and catching Lydecker in the stomach as she fell. Lydecker staggered backward, and then he was dumped on the ground by Tinga, who stood protectively over her sister with her fists raised in a defensive gesture, and a scowl fixed firmly on her face.

All around them, the other X-Fives had stopped their training to stare at Lydecker and the girls in disbelief. From where he was sprawled on the ground, Lydecker was glaring up at the girls, and Gibbs could practically see trouble brewing in the air.

"That's what we call an object lesson," he said, hastily, moving to diffuse the situation before Lydecker could explode. "Everyone take five, and then I want you to run two miles around the compound."

The kids rushed to obey, and Gibbs turned to Lydecker, who was still sprawled on the ground. Reaching out, Gibbs pulled the other man to his feet, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You keep provoking those kids, and one of these days, they're just going to snap," he told him.

"I'm pushing them to be better soldiers," Lydecker said, still scowling.

"If you keep attacking them," Gibbs felt compelled to point out, "then they're going to turn on you. They think of each other as a family, and you would be smart to remember that."

"That kind of sentiment makes them weak," Lydecker retorted, and Gibbs snorted out a laugh.

"It didn't look like that when you were getting your ass handed to you by a pair of five year olds," he said, and Lydecker glared at him. "Change of subject," Gibbs went on, before the other man could say anything else. "What's going on with the X-Four group?"

"Two more had to be put down, this morning," Lydecker told him, as they started walking back to the complex. "Uncontrollable seizures, just like the rest of their unit."

"Is it spreading?" Gibbs asked, forcing down his initial reaction of horror at hearing of the deaths of two more kids.

"So far, it's just the X-Four unit," Lydecker answered. "But, Doctor Vertes thinks that, if it's not gotten under control now, it could spread to the X-Fives. Be a shame for all the work we've put into them to go to waste, like that."

"Yeah, that's the shame," Gibbs muttered, under his breath.

"How are things for you at home?" Lydecker asked, thankfully not hearing his comment.

"Kelly's growing like a weed," Gibbs told him. "And Shannon wants to try for another baby."

"So soon?" Lydecker asked.

"I told her that maybe we should wait a couple of years, first," Gibbs answered. "But, she's pretty persuasive."

"There are worse things to be persuaded to do," Lydecker pointed out, and Gibbs laughed.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It was late at night when Gibbs finally got back to his house, and his family, and he eased the front door open to see Shannon curled up on the couch, fast asleep. He closed the door as gently as he could, but the soft snick of the lock engaging still woke her up.

"Sorry," he apologized, toeing off his boots and joining her in the living room.

"That's okay," Shannon said, rubbing sleep out of her eyes as she sat up, the blanket from the back of the couch falling from her shoulders to pool in her lap. "Are you just getting home?"

"Work ran late," he told her, joining her on the couch and wrapping his arm around her shoulders as she curled up against his side.

"Stressful day?" she asked, and Gibbs nodded.

"Two more of the X-Four unit started seizing," he said, softly. "They were terminated."

Shannon shook her head, sadly, at his words.

"Wasn't there anything you could have done?" she asked, craning her head around to look up at him.

"I didn't find out until it was too late," he told her. "The kids were already on the autopsy table by the time I learned about it."

"That's horrible," Shannon said, regretfully. "I don't understand how these people could just be so callous about the lives of all these children."

"Because they don't see them as children," Gibbs reminded her. "To them, these are multi-million dollar killing machines."

"We'll see about that," Shannon muttered, under her breath. "Did you get any further with Sandeman's files?"

"I didn't even get into his office, today," Gibbs grumbled. "Every time I got close, either Renfro or Lydecker were hovering around the door."

"You don't think they suspect something, do you?" Shannon asked, her hand flying to her throat as she stared at him in horror.

"They don't suspect a thing," he reassured her, quickly, holding her tightly to him as she shook with nerves. "Trust me, if Renfro thought that I was trying to undermine Manticore from the inside, I wouldn't have come home, tonight."

"Maybe you shouldn't go back, tomorrow," Shannon said, quietly, but Gibbs shook his head.

"That's just going to make them suspicious," he told her. "No, Shannon, I have to act as though everything is normal. I can't give them any reason to think that I'm anything other than a devoted soldier to their cause."

"But, Jethro," Shannon protested, quieting when he placed a finger over her lips.

"I will be careful," he told her, firmly. "They won't suspect a thing, I promise."

"What if you can't keep that promise?" a new voice spoke up, and Gibbs craned his head around to see Joshua watching them from the doorway.

Rather than answering, Gibbs straightened up and Shannon moved to the other side of the couch, making room for the boy between them. Joshua sat down in the space between them, curling up against Shannon's side as she wrapped her arms around him.

"You're supposed to be in bed," she said, quietly, and the boy jerked his shoulder in a half shrug.

Gibbs was quiet, watching his wife with their foster son. Sandeman had disappeared nearly three years ago, under very dubious and mysterious circumstances, and Gibbs had spirited Joshua away from Manticore the same night, fearing for the boy's safety. Joshua, after all, didn't have the same protection that the X-series kids did, and Gibbs wouldn't have put it past Vertes and the other scientists to use Joshua as a guinea pig.

He'd been concerned about Shannon's reaction to seeing the boy, but he quickly figured out that he didn't need to have been worried. Shannon had been immediately taken with Joshua, and the boy had been smitten with her in turn. And he adored Kelly, doting on the baby, endlessly.

He'd gotten an old Marine buddy with deep contacts to make some fake papers for Joshua, to make everything legal, and they explained away his rather unusual facial features as a birth defect. Shannon was homeschooling the boy to keep him out of the public eye, and Gibbs did everything in his power to make sure that his bosses at Manticore didn't find out that he'd made off with one of their creations.

He'd just been looking to save Joshua, to keep the boy safe, but Shannon had taken everything that he'd told her, and then she'd run with it. She'd reminded him that Joshua wasn't the only one in trouble at Manticore, and she'd convinced him to try and save the other kids being held there. He'd been even more convinced when he'd broken into Sandeman's office and found evidence that the older man had been working on a plan to get the X-Fives out of the compound.

Unfortunately, Sandeman's plan had been half done, at best, and his own efforts had stalled out as of late, and he was afraid that he'd found himself at a dead end. The best he'd been able to do was to get close to the X-Fives, to gain their trust so that they would be likely to listen to him if he found an opportunity to get them out of Manticore and to safety.

But, he didn't say any of that, out loud. Shannon knew of his worries, and there was no need to get Joshua involved. The boy might have been nearly eighteen, but he was emotionally still a child, in so many ways. More than that, he was Gibbs' child, and he was willing to everything he could to protect his son.

"Come on," Shannon was saying to Joshua, drawing him out of his reverie, "let's get you to bed."

Joshua nodded, climbing to his feet with a grace that defied the usual clumsiness of teenagers, and he followed Shannon up the stairs, leaning against her as she draped an arm across his shoulders. Gibbs watched them go with a small smile on his face, and then he got up and went into his office just off the living room.

Locked in the bottom drawer of his desk was everything that he'd managed to get on Manticore, so far, and he took the files out. The topmost documents were blueprints of the buildings, and he settled down at his desk with a sigh. He had a long night ahead of him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. You guys are great.

**October 31, 1989 – Columbus, Ohio**

"Hey, DiNozzo, you've got a visitor!"

Tony snapped his head up from his textbooks at the sound of his roommate's bellow. A tall man wearing a heavy coat, with the hood pulled up around his face, was dripping water all over the carpet, and Tony instinctively pulled his books out of range. Then, the man pushed his hood back, revealing a familiar face, and Tony grinned.

"Long time, no see," he teased, and a matching grin spread across Logan's face.

"I cannot believe you actually like it out here," his brother grumbled, good-naturedly, shucking off his coat and tossing it over the back of a nearby chair. "This rain is horrible."

"Says the guy who moved to Seattle," Tony shot back, clearing a space for Logan on the bed. "Hey," he added, a few seconds later, "don't you dare get my homework wet."

"How's college going for you, anyway?" Logan asked, stretching out on the bed and grabbing one of his textbooks to leaf through. "Are you still majoring in Criminology?"

"With a minor in Phys Ed," Tony answered, setting his homework aside and stretching out beside his brother.

"Why Phys Ed?" Logan asked, curiously.

"Why not Phys Ed?" Tony countered. "Besides, I'm still the rookie at the station, the one who winds up with all the grunt work, and this way I at least have time to work out, rather than trying to squeeze it into my already nonexistent free time."

"Is Dad still mad at you for joining the police force?" Logan asked.

"I'm still disinherited, if that's what you mean," Tony told him. "But, you know, I don't know why he's so mad in the first place. He's the one who got tired of me two years after the divorce and shipped me off to military school. You'd think that he'd be happy that I'm putting all of that education to good use."

"You gave up running his multi-million dollar empire to become a beat cop," Logan pointed out. When Tony shot him an irritated look, he added, "Hey, I'm just saying. It's not like he just pulled a reason out of thin air."

Tony snorted out a laugh. "Like he's not pissed at you for moving across the country and becoming a journalist?"

"As Dad so succinctly put it," Logan told him, "when I'm willing to give up my childish hobbies, he has a real job waiting for me back home. But, until then, he'd prefer that I use Mom's name, and not sully the family name."

"At least you're still in the will," Tony told him, and Logan shrugged, dismissively.

"I don't need his money, anyway," he said, and then he swatted Tony's hand away when his brother reached out and put a hand on his forehead. "What are you doing?"

"Checking to see if you're running a fever," Tony answered. "Because if you're turning away your trust fund, then you have to be sick, or something."

"You mean that trust fund that Dad decimated for his mysterious Project Manticore?" Logan asked, wryly, and Tony found himself in agreement with his brother.

Ever since he and Logan had discovered that their father had been siphoning money away from their trust funds to support the government-funded project, they'd both tried to find out exactly where the money had been disappearing to. Over the years, Tony had found more important things to occupy his time, especially after he'd been disowned, but for his brother, what had started out as an idle curiosity had become practically an obsession.

Logan had dug as deeply into their father's files as he could, and when he'd exhausted those leads, the ever-resourceful young man had turned to other avenues of information. Tony still didn't know how Logan had gotten all of the contacts that he had at his disposal; he had better sources of information than most cops who'd spent years on the force. But, in the end, his stubborn persistence had paid off.

Years of dead ends had finally panned out into something tangible – the location of a defunct Army training facility out in Gillette, Wyoming. Tony had been skeptical about his brother's find, until Logan had showed him payroll logs for a group of scientists and doctors attached to Warren Air Force Base in Cheyenne, only none of the people listed could actually be found at the base.

The anomaly, slim as it had been at the time, had only fueled Logan's determination and obsession. He'd eventually discovered the true purpose of the base in Gillette, with the help of an obstetrics nurse that he'd had to use all of his previous contacts to help get out of the reach of her former employers. She'd told Logan everything, about the genetic research going on with Project Manticore, about the experiments, and the breeding of super soldiers.

Hannah had died two months later, after being hit by a car while crossing the road. It had looked like an accident, but Tony and Logan had both seen it for what it really was: a warning. And, against Tony's better judgment, Logan had pressed ahead with his investigation, with Tony doing his best to protect his brother from any and all threats.

And that had spring-boarded to where Logan was, today. Trying to discover the government's official position on Manticore.

"How is your investigation going, anyway?" Tony asked. "The last time we talked, your contact in the Department of Justice was keeping things pretty close to the collar."

"He's still not saying much," Logan replied. "The last time I talked to him, he said that he thought someone was watching him."

"Tell him to be careful," Tony said. "And, you need to be careful, too. If the wrong people find out that you're poking your nose into this, things could get bad very, very fast."

"Would you stop worrying?" Logan asked, exasperation in his voice. "Why do you think I created Eyes Only in the first place? So that I could investigate things like this without people finding out who I really am."

"Right," Tony said, wryly. "That's why you had five death threats delivered to your work and home in the last three months."

"I see you've been talking to my editor," Logan remarked. "Tony, those threats aren't related to anything about Eyes Only. They're over my regular journalism."

"Which makes things even worse," Tony countered, suddenly and irrationally angry with his brother. "Because if people find out that you're Eyes Only, especially with everything that you've broken with that alias, then there aren't going to be any threats. There's just going to be a bullet in your forehead."

"I'll be careful, Mom," Logan said, with a heavy, exasperated sigh, and then he yelped in surprise when Tony grabbed his arm and dragged him off the bed, heading toward the door. "Where are we going?" he demanded, as Tony snatched his car keys off the table and slammed the door shut behind them.

"We," Tony said, shortly, "are going to the station. You are going to learn how to fire a gun."

"You aren't actually taking these death threats seriously, are you?" Logan demanded, but Tony didn't answer him.

He just kept driving, navigating through the dark streets to the station. The station was nearly empty when they walked in, but Tony greeted the few officers he recognized working on the night shift. He detoured to his desk to grab his service revolver from the locked drawer he kept it in, passing his backup piece to Logan.

"Let's go," he said, brushing past his brother, who was eyeing the gun with obvious distaste.

The shooting range was dark when they entered, but Tony flipped on the floodlights, banishing the shadows as the light blazed through the room. Going to one of the furthest carrels, he set up a paper target and sent it out on the track to a respectable distance.

Pulling his brother over to stand beside him in the carrel, he gestured for Logan to hand the gun over.

"The first thing you need to know about guns is how they're put together," he told him, as he disassembled the weapon and placed the individual pieces on the counter in front of them. "If you know how they work, then it's easier to understand how to use them."

Making sure that Logan was paying close attention to him, he started reassembling the gun, naming the pieces as he picked them up. When he put the last component in place, he turned to Logan.

"Did you get all that?" he asked, and Logan nodded.

"Sure," he said, with a shrug, "but I don't get why you're so worked up about this. Don't tell me you're scared."

"Yes," Tony snapped, finally losing patience with his brother. "If it helps you take this more seriously, then, yes, I'm scared. I'm scared because you're getting death threats in the mail, and you're halfway across the country, and I can't be there to protect you!"

"Tony," Logan tried to interject, but Tony wasn't listening to him.

"I'm scared that I'm going to get a call from the Seattle PD asking me to come in and identify your body," he ranted, furiously. "I'm scared that one of these days, you aren't going to come home, and I'm not going to know about it until it's too late."

"I'm sorry," Logan said, quietly, when he'd calmed down. "I didn't know, Tony, really. I guess I didn't really think about these death threats being something serious."

"Well, you need to start taking them seriously," Tony told him, quietly. "This is your life we're talking about, Logan. I don't want to lose you."

"You aren't," Logan reassured him, his face grim in the light. "Now, show me how to shoot this thing."

He picked up the gun, and Tony moved behind him, automatically checking his stance and correcting his footing. He fixed Logan's grip on the gun, helping him sight down the length of the barrel.

"Make sure the safety is off," he instructed, stepping back. "And then squeeze the trigger in a steady motion."

Logan did as he said, and his arms jerked from the force of the recoil. Tony flinched as he imagined his second-best gun dropping out of Logan's hands and smashing to pieces on the floor, but Logan managed to keep his grip on the weapon. Tony breathed a sigh of relief as Logan lowered his arms, setting the gun on the counter.

Pressing the button to activate the track, Tony watched the target get closer. Taking it down, he spread the target out on the counter to show Logan how he'd done.

"Not bad," he said, nodding in satisfaction. "You've got a good eye. We just need to work on keeping your arms steady."

"Should I try, again?" Logan asked, and in answer, Tony pinned the target back up to the track.

"We're going to be here until I'm certain that you know how to shoot this thing, perfectly," he told him. "Even if it takes all night."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. You guys are awesome.

**January 9, 1990 – Gillette, Wyoming**

Max gritted her teeth as another wave of pain washed through her. She practically bit through her lip to keep from making even a tiny sound, and, behind her, Jondy's arms tightened around her in sympathy. Max leaned into her sister's embrace as she rode out the seizures wracking her body, clinging tightly to Jondy.

Around her, the rest of her siblings were watching her, worriedly. Jack had disappeared nearly a month ago after he'd developed the same seizures, and they were all afraid that the worst had happened to him. Max had been terrified when she'd first started seizing nearly a week ago, but they'd managed to hide her worsening condition from Lydecker and the other soldiers.

But, tonight, when the seizures had gotten so bad that she was literally crippled from the force of it, now she was more afraid than ever. She was afraid that she was going to be caught, and that her siblings would be punished for trying to hide her. But, even though she'd begged them to leave her alone, they hadn't listened. And some, small part of her was grateful that they had stayed.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she could feel the shaking stop, and she could feel Jondy breathe a sigh of relief.

"I think the worst is over, now," the older girl whispered, but Zack shook his head, a grim expression on his face.

"The seizures aren't going to stop," he said, quietly. "If we go back out there, Max will get caught, and then she'll disappear, just like Jack."

"So, what are we supposed to do?" Ben asked, in a strained whisper. "We can't hide in this closet, forever."

"We'll escape," Eva said, suddenly, and everyone turned and looked at her in amazement.

"Escape to where?" Tinga asked, in disbelief. "There's nothing outside the compound."

"That's what they want us to think," Eva told them. "But, where do you think Sergeant Gibbs and the rest go every night when they leave?"

"Wherever it is, it's some place we're not welcome," Zack said, bitterly, but Eva shook her head.

"All we have to do is get outside the fence," she said, imploringly. "Once we're past the razor wire, then we're free."

"Yeah," Zane said, mockingly, "because it's just that easy. We'll just stroll up to the gates and ask the nice guards to let us out."

"What do you want to do?" Eva asked, challengingly. "Just sit here and wait for them to autopsy Max? And then the rest of us, one by one, because we're probably all going to get the seizures."

"Take a vote," Zack said, into the silence that followed. "Majority determines whether we stay or go. All in favor?"

The vote came in nine to three, in favor of leaving the compound, and Zack nodded decisively as everyone lowered their hands.

"That's it, then," he said, quietly. "We're getting out of here."

Pressing his ear to the door, he listened for the sound of footsteps outside their hiding spot, and then he slowly opened the door to the storage room they'd taken refuge in. As they filed out of the room, they crept silently down the hallway, keeping a wary eye out for the guards. At the first hallway, Zack held up a hand, stopping them, and Eva crept up beside him, peering around the corner.

Holding up a single finger, she gestured for everyone to move back, and then she darted around the corner. There was a moment of silence followed by a muffled thump, and then Eva appeared back around the corner, clutching a gun in her hands.

"That's one guard taken care of," she said, in a faint whisper.

"Keep going," Zack hissed, gesturing them to precede him down the hallway. "Don't stop for anything."

They wound their way through the labyrinthine maze that made up Manticore's hallways, headed toward the back entrance where they were hoping to encounter less people. Especially guards armed with weapons.

They were within sight of the door when a shadow fell across the hallway in front of them. Eva, in the lead, froze, raising the gun defensively in front of her, but then everyone breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Sergeant Gibbs stepped out in front of them.

"Would you mind putting the gun down, Eva?" he asked, quietly, holding his hands out to show that he was unarmed.

"That depends," Zack spoke up, coming up to his sister's side. "Are you going to turn us in?"

"I helped Jack escape," Gibbs told them. "I can help you, too."

"Jack is alive?" Ben spoke up, cautiously, from the back of the group. "Where is he?"

"Somewhere safe," Gibbs reassured them. "Will you trust me?"

Zack looked back at the rest of the group, seeking a silent consensus, and then he turned back to Gibbs with a short nod.

"We'll trust you," he said, quietly. "For now, anyway."

They followed Gibbs down an adjacent hallway and into an abandoned office, where he ushered them in and shut the door.

"Give me half an hour," he said, before he disappeared. "If I'm not back in thirty minutes, go ahead with your original plan."

With nothing else to do, they settled in the office, keeping well away from the door and sticking to the walls. They huddled in a group, completely silent as they eyed the door, counting down the minutes until Gibbs came back.

Twenty-five minutes later, the door opened, slowly, and Gibbs entered the office with his hands held out in front of him.

"Still not a threat," he said, softly, as Eva slowly lowered the gun in her hands. "Come on. Let's get you all out of here."

"Why are you helping us?" Zack asked, suspiciously, as they followed him out of the office and down the hallway toward a seldom-used entrance.

"Short story," Gibbs replied, distractedly, "I've got a little girl at home who's your age."

Stopping at the door, he gestured for them to pause before he opened it.

"I've made some phone calls," he said, quietly. "Once you get over the fence and out through the forest, you'll come upon a road. It's about five miles away from here, almost directly north from this door. There are cars waiting there to take you someplace safe."

"How long do we have?" Zack asked, clearly still not trusting the older man.

"Thirty minutes, thirty-five at the most," Gibbs told him, twisting his watch around so that everyone could see the time displayed. "After that, they'll wait as long as they can, but there are no promises."

"And what will you be doing while we're running for our lives?" Zack asked, suspiciously.

"I'll be distracting Lydecker and the rest from your escape," Gibbs told him. "Now, get out of here."

He pushed the door open, and they disappeared into the night without a second thought. They sprinted across the open expanse, ignoring the biting cold of the snow beneath their feet, the freezing wind that twisted their nightgowns around their legs. The cold was uncomfortable, but it was nothing they couldn't bear for the chance to escape.

They hit the inner fence at a dead run, surprising the soldiers standing guard. The guards were subdued with surprising ease, but no one was willing to get overconfident. Not when so much was at stake.

One obstacle conquered, they headed for the outer fence – and the freedom that lay beyond. Once they were outside the fence, they'd be able to lose the guards in the trees, separating the soldiers so that it would be easier to pick them off.

Naturally, that was when all hell broke loose.

The sound of gunfire behind them had them running even faster, and Max struggled to keep her feet underneath her as she ran across the snow. Jondy tightened her grip on Max's arms, keeping her upright until they reached a stand of trees that Zack had chosen as a hasty hiding spot.

"We're splitting up," the older boy said, as soon as everyone gathered around. "Teams of two, and head for the trees."

So saying, he separated them into pairs and gestured them off into the darkness. But, when he got to Max and Jondy, the older girl shook her head.

"I'm not leaving Max," she hissed, glaring at her brother.

"Neither am I," Zane said, echoing his sister's sentiment. "She needs our help; she's still weak from the seizures."

"Fine," Zack said, clearly not willing to argue. "Just go."

He darted off, himself, headed toward the tree line. After a count to five, to get some distance between them, Zane and Jondy helped Max to her feet, and then the trio started running, again.

They'd clearly picked the wrong way to go, because shortly they could hear rapid footsteps coming up from behind them. Zane swore under his breath when he glanced behind them and saw a pair of soldiers with guns bearing down on them. He and Max both glanced briefly over at Jondy, silently asking the older girl what she thought they should do, and it only took her a few seconds to make up her mind.

Swerving, Jondy tugged the two of them down a side path, toward the man-made pond in the middle of the forest. This time of year, the pond was completely frozen over, but that wouldn't matter to them. Picking up their speed, the three of them hit the pond at a dead run, breaking through the ice and sinking down into the freezing water.

Max had just a second to take as deep a breath as she could before she was completely underwater. The pond wasn't very deep, and they pushed themselves down to the bottom, looking back up to see any sign of their pursuers. The spot where they'd broken through was already starting to ice over, but Max could still hear the indistinct mumble of voices as the soldiers reached the edge of the frozen pond.

The men were arguing about where the three of them could have possibly gone, and Max figured that they were either new or stupid, that neither of them even looked down at the frozen water. It certainly would have been the first place that Lydecker would have checked, and she found herself grateful that the older man hadn't been the one to come after them.

Finally, after what seemed like forever even to her, the men turned and left, their footsteps fading away in the distance. They waited another two minutes to make sure that the soldiers were really gone, and then they swam toward the surface. Zane broke through the ice that had formed over their hole and jumped out onto a more solid spot, pulling his sisters up behind him. Then, they headed for the outer fence, again.

Max's wet nightgown had started freezing the second the cold air hit in, and she irritably tore the hem into strips to make it easier to run. The snow beneath her feet was getting colder, but she forced herself to ignore it, telling herself firmly that a little discomfort was well worth the price of freedom.

Max didn't know how long they were running before she could see the edge of the tree line, marking the end of the forest. And beyond that, she could see twin lights in the distance.

"There's our escape," Jondy said, encouragingly, and they picked up their speed, clearing the outer fence easily when they reached it.

The driver of the car must have seen them as they got closer to the road, because the car started moving toward them, meeting them as they reached the road. Then, the door was thrown open and a woman hurriedly gestured them inside.

"Let's go," she said, quickly, as they piled into the car. "Duck down. We can't risk you being seen."

"Who are you?" Jondy asked, as they huddled down in the backseat, a blanket covering them.

"My name is Shannon," the woman told them. "Now, keep quiet."

Nearly half an hour later, Shannon finally reached back and pulled the blanket off of them, signaling that they could get up onto the seats. Max settled back against the seat, between her siblings, and looked out of the window in interest.

"Well?" Shannon asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. "How do you like your first view of freedom?"

"It's big," Zane said, the first to find his voice.

"It's the world," Shannon told them. "Welcome to your new lives."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. You guys are awesome.

**June 16, 1997 – Cheyenne, Wyoming**

"Mark Fuller!"

Max applauded politely as the tall, lanky young man stood up and walked down the aisle to the podium to accept his diploma from their training officer. She and the rest of her class from the academy, all thirty of them, were graduating today as police officers of the state of Wyoming.

It had been a long fight with her father just to get him to accept the idea of her even going, but she'd been persuasive, and in the end, Jethro had finally backed down, acknowledging that she was old enough to make decisions for her own life. It had helped that her mother had stepped in to support her, reminding him that, out of everyone in the family, his job was by far the most dangerous. There hadn't been a lot that he could say to the truth of that statement.

"Rebecca Gaines!"

She thought she'd known what to expect when she'd gone into the academy, and she hadn't been disappointed. Going through the academy, with the physical and mental challenges expected of their recruits, had been nothing compared to the tortures she'd undergone at Manticore. Her previous training had served her well to prepare her for her future career, and the hardest part of the academy had actually been forcing herself not to use her abilities to get ahead of her classmates. But, even competing with her classmates at a purely human level, she'd still excelled, graduating from the academy with honors.

"Max Gibbs!"

She started at the sound of her name, and the young man beside her elbowed her in the ribs to get her to wake up. Standing, she walked down the aisle to the podium, to where her training officer stood beside the police commissioner and the chief of police. After accepting her diploma and shaking each man's hand, she joined her classmates who'd already been called up.

As she looked out at the crowd, it wasn't hard to spot her family. Her parents sat near the middle of their row, flanked by Joshua, Kelly, and Jondy. Zane was standing behind all the rows of chairs, the video camera in his hands focused squarely on Max. And standing beside him were two young women and a young man that all looked vaguely familiar.

As the graduation ceremony proceeded, Max found her attention being torn between listening to the speeches being delivered and trying to figure out who her mysterious guests were. She thought that she'd almost had it figured out when Rebecca, beside her, gently stepped on her foot, getting her attention. She focused on the speaker at the podium in time to hear her training officer call out her name.

"And now," the man said, as she made her way to the podium, "a few words from our valedictory graduate, Max Gibbs."

Max scowled slightly at the older man as she took his place behind the podium. She'd been warned that this might happen, that she might have to speak in front of the crowd. She'd even prepared something to say, in case it had actually happened. But, she hadn't really thought that she'd have to do it.

Reaching into her pockets to pull out her notes, Max felt her brain shut down when she came up empty. The notes that she'd worked on just in case were still at home, sitting on her dresser where she'd put them so that she wouldn't forget them.

_'Looks like I'm winging it,'_ she thought, ruefully, before looking out at the crowd in front of her.

"When we first joined the police academy," she said, pitching her voice to carry to the back of the room, even though it came out a little strained, "Officer Mitchell and all of our other teachers asked us what we expected to get out of the experience. We all said basically the same things; that we wanted to learn discipline, we wanted to learn how to be stronger, and we wanted to learn the skills that would make us good police officers. And we got all of that. In spades."

She paused for a second to take a breath and collect her suddenly-scattered thoughts. Sneaking a quick glance out at her family, she saw Jondy giving her a thumbs-up, and she smiled at the open encouragement she could see on Joshua's face.

"But," she continued, her voice stronger, now, "we also got something that was so much greater than any of our other lessons. We learned respect, for ourselves and others. We gained the strength to stand up for what we believe in. And, most importantly, we were given the chance to make a difference in the world. We stand before you, now, the class of ninety-seven. And we promise that the world will be a better place because we were in it."

Applause greeted her as she walked back to join the rest of her classmates, and from the back of the room, Zane's piercing whistle cut above all of the rest of the noise, making her laugh. The rest of the ceremony finished quickly after that, and then Max and the rest of her classmates filed out of the room to the sound of applause.

The new graduates lingered out in the lobby while their friends and family spilled out of the crowded auditorium and into the lobby. Max watched as her classmates slowly left the auditorium with their families, all of them happy and excited. She waited, patiently, for the rest of the auditorium to empty out, and then, when nearly everyone else was gone, her family came out into the lobby.

Her father, as usual these days, was moving slowly, leaning heavily on a cane to support the weight that his bad leg couldn't support on its own. Beside him was her mother, with her hand around Jethro's arm. The two of them walked like that, often, and while on the surface it just looked like an intimate moment between the two of them, but Max knew that Shannon was providing her husband with support in her own way, ready to catch him if he stumbled.

Behind her parents were her siblings, with Joshua and Kelly walking between Zane and Jondy, although as soon as her oldest brother saw her, he broke away from the group and ran toward her. Darting around their parents with a grace that was belied by his huge frame, he closed in on Max, sweeping her up in his arms and spinning her around, wildly.

"Joshua!" she cried out, even though she trusted her brother, implicitly, and knew that he'd never drop her.

Joshua just laughed, spinning her around once more before he set her back on the ground. The world spun quickly around her for a few seconds, but she regained her equilibrium easily enough. With Joshua falling into step beside her, she crossed the lobby to where the rest of her family was waiting.

"Max, honey, we're so proud of you," Shannon told her, as Max hugged her and Jethro, tightly.

"You did good, kid," Jethro said, his rough unusually gruff, and Max caught the glint of tears in his eyes as she pulled away from him.

"Thanks," Max told him, tears in her own eyes.

Then, the rest of her family mobbed her, burying her beneath them in a giant bear hug. When they finally stepped back, her neatly-pressed clothes were wrinkled and her hair was standing on end.

"Thanks, guys," she said, wryly, as she tried in vain to get her hair to lay back down on her head.

"Oh, come on, Max, you look great," a new voice spoke up, and Max looked behind her siblings to see the three mysterious guests that had been standing beside Zane at the back of the room.

For a second, she couldn't place any of them. Then, the young woman with a long braid running down her back smiled at her, dimples appearing on her cheeks, and Max immediately knew who she was.

"Tinga," she said, happily, and her older sister grinned even wider, moving forward to wrap her arms around her, tightly, in a hug.

"And," Max continued, as she pulled away from Tinga and looked at the other two still standing there, "I'm going to say Brynn and … Jack?" she guessed, trying to recognize one of her siblings in the young man's features.

"Ben, actually," he said, his voice quiet as he stepped forward and pulled her to him in a hug. "It's so good to see you, again, Max."

"Ditto, little sister," Brynn said, joining the impromptu hug. "You looked amazing up there."

"What are you guys doing here?" Max asked, wiping tears from her eyes as she pulled away from her siblings to look at them.

"Sergeant Gibbs found us," Tinga explained. "And we couldn't stay away when we heard that our baby sister was growing up."

"I know you probably have a million questions," Jethro spoke up, before Max could say anything. "But, how about we save everything for dinner?"

"Good idea," Shannon added, firmly. "Let's get going before they give our reservation away."

With Shannon having spoken, the group started toward the doors of the auditorium, talking amongst themselves as they went out into the parking lot. Max was trailing slightly behind the rest of her family when Kelly dropped back to walk beside her, and she threw an arm around her younger sister's shoulders.

They'd almost made it to their cars when Max caught something out of the corner of her eye. Without slacking in her pace or even turning her head, Max rolled her eyes to the side to try and catch a glimpse of whatever had gotten her attention in the first place. On the far side of the parking lot, she thought that she saw a man's figure hidden in the shadows. But, when she craned her head around to get a better look, there was nothing there.

"Is something wrong?" Kelly asked her, quietly, sensing her hesitation as she walked, but Max shook her head, firmly, turning her attention back to her family.

"Nothing," she said, reassuringly, but she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had taken root in the pit of her stomach.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. You guys are awesome.

**November 29, 2000 – Seattle, Washington**

As he stood behind the bright yellow crime scene tape, Logan shifted impatiently from foot to foot, heaving a sigh as his latest attempt to catch the attention of one of the cops on the scene fell flat. Not that he'd really expected it to work, since they were all busy investigating a murder, but there was still a tiny part of him that practically screamed that, as a journalist, he should get some kind of preferential treatment. He shoved that part down, deep, and continued to ignore it.

To occupy himself while he waited, he began what had become his favorite pastime of late: the continued study of one Detective Max Gibbs.

When he'd first encountered the young woman three years ago, she'd just transferred to the Seattle Police Department from the department in Cheyenne. She was six months out of the academy, and by all rights, she should have still been a green recruit. But, while she may have been the rookie on the force, she had the attitude of a hardened, twenty-year veteran.

They'd met at another murder scene, one where a young runaway had been found with his throat slit. The scene had been an absolute mess, and even Logan, who'd seen more than his share of horrors over the years, had a hard time keeping his lunch down. The senior officers on the scene, probably figuring that their new rookie couldn't handle it, had instead sent her to handle him at the edges of the crime scene.

Max had clearly been irritated at being shunted off on a busywork assignment, but she'd remained coolly professional when she'd dealt with Logan. She'd answered all of his questions with the expected party line, had skillfully blocked his view of the worst of the crime scene despite his best efforts, and had even managed to sneak a practically brand-new roll of film out of his camera and into her own pocket, a smooth maneuver that he still didn't know how she'd managed. She hadn't, to his immense relief, exposed the film to sunlight, and had even given it back to him once her superiors had finished clearing the crime scene and had informed the dead boy's family.

There'd also been a poorly-executed attempt at flirting somewhere in that first conversation, but Logan was still too embarrassed by it to think about it too much. Luckily, Max had also been equally willing to let the matter drop, and they'd kept a strictly professional relationship from that point forward.

Logan had found it fascinating to watch Max's rapid advancement through the ranks of the police department. She'd gone from rookie to detective in just under two years, the fastest rise to the position that the Seattle Police Department had seen in nearly a decade. And, despite the rampant rumors that had surrounded her quick promotion, she'd earned every bit of it due to her own skills, and she continued to prove that she deserved her position every day that she went to work.

Like today, where she was the lead detective on the scene, directing the other cops around while she conducted her investigation. She was currently crouched over the body, using her own body to block most of the view of the victim as she studied the young woman. Then, after a few minutes, she reached out and pulled the coroner's sheet over the body, again, concealing it from sight.

Standing, she rolled her head from side to side, stretching out her neck. Then, even though she hadn't looked at him even once since he'd arrived on the scene, she turned and headed straight for where he was standing.

"Cale," she greeted him, coolly, as she stopped on her side of the crime scene tape, her arms crossed over her chest as she stared him down.

"Detective," he returned, fighting the urge not to fidget under her intense gaze. "So, what can you tell me?"

"Our investigation is ongoing," she told him, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips when he glared at her.

"Can you give me anything other than the department's standard line?" he asked, expectantly.

"I don't know," she countered, a challenging note in her voice. "Can you promise me that nothing of what I might tell you is going to end up on the front pages of the _Post-Intelligencer_?"

"Is secrecy really that important?" he argued, even though he already knew what her answer would be.

And she didn't disappoint him. "What do you think?" she returned, dryly.

Without waiting for his reply, she turned away to walk back to the crime scene, but he reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"I'm not going into this blind," he told her, keeping his voice low so that no one else would hear him. "I have a pretty good idea of who's beneath that sheet. And you'll notice that I'm not running off to my editor with the information."

"What do you want?" Max asked, her own voice just as quiet, but there was a hard look in her eyes that promised trouble if he tried to screw her over.

"If I'm right about your victim," Logan continued, "then I think that you and I are running parallel investigations. And I think that we can help each other out."

Max was silent for a long moment, thinking about his words. She was watching as the victim was loaded onto a stretcher and into the coroner's van, a pensive look on her face. Then, as the van doors were slammed shut with a bang that echoed throughout the area, she turned her attention back to Logan.

"There's a little coffee shop about two blocks south of here," she told him. "We can go there and have privacy to talk."

"Meet you there in half an hour?" Logan suggested.

"An hour," Max answered. "I need some time to finish things up, here. And, Cale?" she added, a warning tone creeping into her voice, "you'd better not be jerking me around with this one."

** XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

An hour on the dot, later, Logan looked up from his laptop sitting on the table in front of him as the bell over the door of the coffee shop chimed. Max had just entered the small shop, rubbing her hands briskly against the cold air, and Logan gave her a quick wave to get her attention. Nodding at him to show that she'd seen him, she detoured over to the counter to place her order. Then, she carried her steaming hot cup of coffee over to where he was sitting.

"Please tell me that isn't one of those frou-frou espresso drinks," Logan told her, as she sat down across from him.

"You sound like my father," Max said, with a long-suffering sigh. "If it isn't as black as tar, he doesn't even want to look at it."

"That's a perfectly sensible attitude," Logan said, but Max just shook her head.

"What do you have for me?" she asked, instead, turning all business in a heartbeat.

"All right," Logan said, turning his attention to his notes. "This is the third murder in two months that you've investigated where the victim has fit into a very specific profile."

"And what kind of profile would that be?" Max asked him, softly.

"The victims are two males and one female, all three in their early to mid twenties," Logan answered. "All of the victims were in peak physical condition at the time of their deaths, and all of them were suspected of having some sort of military training."

"Your skills need some work, if that's the most you can narrow your profile," Max told him, but Logan cut her off with an upraised hand.

"They also," he told her, lowering his voice even though they were the only people sitting at the back of the coffee shop, "all had a very distinctive barcode tattoo on the backs of their necks."

Max was completely silent, the only sound her quiet, even breathing as she stared at him with an inscrutable expression on her face. Then, she pressed her lips into a tight line as she took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself down.

"Where did you hear that?" she asked, softly, and Logan knew that he was on the right track.

"I have my sources," he answered. "But, I've lost people in the past by being careless, and I'm not willing to compromise their safety. Not even to you."

Max fell silent, again, as she studied him, probably wondering if she could trust him. Then, she sighed, taking a long drink from her rapidly-cooling cup of coffee.

"It wasn't one barcode," she said, quietly, leaning over the table toward him. "Each of the victims had their own, distinct barcode. And they weren't tattoos."

"Then what were they?" Logan asked, confused.

"Genetically-encoded markers," came the answer, and Logan raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"That actually makes sense," he finally said, after thinking about it. "After everything else my investigation has turned up-"

When he trailed off, Max glared at him in exasperated anger.

"If you think you're going to get away with leaving off with that-" she said, warningly.

"Detective, have you ever heard of a military operation called Manticore?" he asked, and flash of something strange crossed Max's face, before her expression smoothed over into blank stillness, again.

"Let's say that I haven't," she told him, looking at him expectantly. "What do you know about it?"

"I know that they're not listed on any official dossiers to receive government funding," Logan told her. "I know that there are millions of dollars every year that are given to dummy corporations that seem to have no greater purpose than to fund Manticore. I know that, for the last thirty to forty years, they've been heavily involved in the fields of genetic research and engineering – with a very high number of scientists and doctors on the payroll of a supposedly military operation."

"Anything else?" Max asked him, her face still completely blank as she watched him.

"Manticore uses its research to breed super soldiers," Logan replied, bluntly. "Genetically engineered humans with enhanced strength and reflexes. They were created without flaws or weaknesses, created to be perfect."

"Whoever your source is," Max finally commented, "they're very well informed. And, one would hope, very well protected."

"I'm not going to let anything happen to my sources," Logan insisted, hotly, but Max shook her head, cutting him off.

"The people you're talking about are incredibly dangerous," she told him. "Trust me, if they can take out three of their x-series, then a bunch of regular humans are nothing."

"You do know about Manticore," Logan guessed, but he'd already suspected as much.

In answer, Max leaned forward over the table, sweeping her long hair off of the back of her neck. Then, she twisted around in her seat until he was looking at the back of her head. For a second, in the dim light, he couldn't see what she was trying to show him, but then he saw it. The dark barcode standing out on the back of her neck.

"You're-" he started, but then he trailed off, not sure how to complete that sentence.

"X-five-four-five-two, at your service," Max said, briskly, twisting back around and sitting back in her seat. "So, tell me, Cale. How does a journalist for the _Post-Intelligencer_ learn so much about covert military operations?"

"That's a long story," Logan answered, cautiously. "What do you say we go somewhere a little more private for that conversation?"

"My place is pretty close," Max told him, as she stood up from the booth and waited for him to do the same.

"Sounds good," Logan told her, as he rose from his seat. "I just have one favor to ask, though."

"And what would that be?" Max asked, curiously.

"Drop the Cale," he told her. "Just call me Logan."

Max nodded, a small smile crossing her face.

"I'm Max," she replied, quietly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: **This is the last chapter of _Soldiers of Fortune: Renegades_. There will be one, maybe two, sequels, the first of which is currently in writing. As the first sequel is a Big Bang entry, it's not going to be posted right away. Look for it starting June 10th.

Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading and reviewing, and I hope you've enjoyed the journey.

**May 18, 2001 – Washington DC**

The bullpen was quiet in the early morning when Tony stepped off the elevator, balancing a stack of papers in one arm and a cardboard holder full of coffee cups in the other. Heading straight for his desk, he set the coffee cups down before he dropped the whole thing all over the floor. Then, he put the stack of papers down, intending to go through them, later.

Looking around the empty bullpen, Tony relished the quiet and solitude that very rarely filled the crowded, busy space. He figured that, at that time of the morning, he would be the only person there – but then he saw the light on in the director's office, upstairs. Leon Vance, their new director who'd replaced Tom Morrow after the older man had gotten a position with Homeland Security, must have been burning the midnight oil.

Tony debated going upstairs to say hello and see if Vance needed anything, but then he reasoned that Vance already knew he was there, since very little slipped by the man. Plus, he had his own paperwork to catch up on.

Settling down behind his desk, Tony pulled the first part of his paperwork over in front of him and started working. He'd gotten about a quarter of the way through the stack when the first member of his team arrived. Ducky Mallard, the chief medical examiner for NCIS, clapped a companionable hand onto his shoulder as he stopped beside Tony's desk.

"Have you been here long?" Ducky asked, glancing down at the stack of paper on the desk.

"That depends," Tony answered, rubbing away a headache that he could feel forming in his temples. "What time is it?"

"Just after seven," Ducky told him, accepting the coffee that Tony held out to him. "Are you all right, Tony?"

"I've just got this feeling that something bad is going to happen," Tony explained.

"You should always listen to those kinds of feelings," a new voice spoke up.

Abby Sciuto perched on the edge of his desk, snagging her usual Caf-Pow from where it was sitting beside the coffees and taking a big gulp.

"I will never understand how you can drink that thing so early in the morning," Tony remarked, and Abby shrugged.

"I may be a little obsessed," she admitted, after thinking about it for a minute. "What are you having a bad feeling about?"

"If I knew that, I'd take care of it," Tony snapped, feeling guilty as soon as the words were out of his mouth. But, from the look on Abby's face, she knew that he didn't mean it.

Before he could apologize for snapping at her, though, the elevator dinged open, and the last two members of his team stepped out: Tim McGee and Ziva David.

McGee was the team's resident genius, and Tony had recruited the younger man to his team after seeing him work his magic with a computer. McGee had been a little green when he'd first started out, but he was quickly growing to become quite the competent agent.

Ziva David was a surprise. Director Morrow had assigned the Mossad operative to his team almost two years ago, and he'd clashed with Ziva from the start. A few times in the beginning of their professional relationship, they'd almost killed each other, but slowly a mutual respect had developed between them. Now, Ziva was his most trusted agent, his second-in-command, and someone he trusted implicitly with his life, and the lives of his team.

McGee and Ziva were arguing, as usual, as they moved through the bullpen toward their desks. And even more worrisome, McGee had his hand reaching for the back of Ziva's neck, while the headstrong agent had an annoyed look on her face.

"McGee, the last person who tried to look at Ziva's tattoo nearly lost a hand," Tony called out, startling the younger man into jerking his hand away from Ziva with a guilty look on his face. "And," he continued, "while, normally, I'd just let you go about your business, you won't be able to do your job if Ziva breaks all of your fingers."

McGee went white as a sheet as he looked nervously over at Ziva. Ziva just smirked at him as she sat down behind her desk. And Tony shook his head in silent exasperation as he mentally calculated how many times throughout the day he was going to have to break them up.

_'Sometimes,'_ he thought, wryly, _'leading this team is more like running a daycare center.'_

No cases had been called in, yet, so everyone settled down to work on their reports from their last case. Tony kept an eye on the rest of his team while they worked, smirking to himself when Ziva and McGee once again started bickering, at a harsh whisper this time in the hopes that he wouldn't hear them.

Ziva's long hair had fallen off of the back of her neck when she had leaned forward to say something to McGee, revealing the mysterious tattoo that McGee was so fascinated with. From where he was sitting, it looked like part of a barcode, but Ziva fixed her hair, quickly, before he could see anything more than that. And from the frustrated look on McGee's face, he hadn't even seen that much of it.

Tony didn't know why McGee was so obsessed with Ziva's tattoo, just like he didn't know why Ziva went to such pains to keep it a secret, but considering how often he found himself in the middle of whatever argument the two were having, it was just one more point of dispute that he often found himself mediating over. And from the look on Ziva's face, mediation was going to be needed very, very shortly.

"McGee," Tony called out, glancing up from his paperwork, "go see what kind of progress Ducky's made on the autopsy of yesterday's victim."

"I could just call him," McGee started, but Tony shook his head.

"You, autopsy, now," he told the younger man, watching as he sighed, heavily, and headed toward the elevator, grumbling under his breath.

"Thank you," Ziva said, as soon as McGee had left the bullpen.

"If you cover it with makeup," Tony advised, turning his attention back to his paperwork, "then you can tell him you had the thing lasered off."

"I don't think even that would dissuade him," Ziva said, with a sigh.

Before Tony could reply, his cell phone rang, shrilly.

"Hello?" he said, as he flipped the phone open.

"I'm trying to reach Anthony DiNozzo, Junior," came a crisp, male voice.

"You've reached him," Tony replied, leaning back in his chair. "How can I help you?"

"Mr. DiNozzo, my name is Detective Matt Sung," the man told him. "I'm with the Seattle Police Department."

"And what does Seattle want with me?" Tony asked, carefully, dread pooling in his stomach.

"You're listed as next of kin for a Logan Cale, yes?" Sung continued. "His brother?"

At his words, Tony felt like the floor had just dropped out from under his feet. He clutched at the edge of his desk with his free hand, feeling the world spin around him as he tightened his grip on his cell phone.

"What happened?" he asked, hoarsely, unable to put words to what he really wanted to say.

"Mr. DiNozzo," Sung went on, "I'm afraid that your brother's been in an accident…"


	9. Chapter 9

To everyone who's been patiently (or not so patiently) waiting for June:

Before anyone gets too excited, this is not an update. It's a request, actually. I need a beta or two to help me with the sequels (yes, there's more than one) that I'm writing for _Soldiers of Fortune_. I need someone who's good with characterization, to make sure that I'm not screwing up our beloved characters for either NCIS or Dark Angel, and someone who's not afraid to tell me if the plot that I have isn't working out.

Any takers?

Also, a sneak peek at the next installment of the _Soldiers of Fortune_ saga:

_"Mr. – Agent – DiNozzo," Doctor Anderson corrected himself. "I'll be honest with you; your brother is not in good shape."_

_"He got hit by a car," Tony felt compelled to point out. _

_"Logan has suffered several major injuries," Anderson told him. "Fractures of several ribs, his right femur, and his left radius. Lacerations of several large muscles in his legs. A dislocated left shoulder, and both hips. And-"_

_"And-" Tony prompted, when Anderson trailed off. _

_"His spinal column was severely damaged, and he suffered serious intracranial damage," Anderson finished, a grim tone in his voice. "Agent DiNozzo, your brother is likely to be paralyzed when he wakes up. If-" he corrected himself, quietly. "If he wakes up."_

_"When," Tony told him, to the man's surprised expression. "Doc, my brother is a fighter. He's not going to let this stop him. He is waking up."_

_"You do have to prepare yourself-"Anderson started, but Tony cut him off. _

_"He is waking up," he said, emphatically. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go back and sit with my brother."_

_Getting up, he headed down the hallway back toward Logan's room. He was only a few feet away from the door when he started to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. _

_And a second later, the doorway exploded, sending him flying back down the hallway…_


End file.
